Friday was a good day for Dusty Baker, about as good as a day can get in the middle of a national shutdown when your only remaining career goal might be slipping away.
Baker, 70, fished on a private pond with his son, Darren, 21, and delivered meals to his mother, Christine, 87. As the COVID-19 crisis continued, his dream of winning his first World Series after 22 seasons as a manager was about the last thing on his mind.
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“This is a mess, ain’t it?” Baker said.
The 2020 season was to be his unexpected gift, and now that gift won’t be as appealing, if he gets to unwrap it at all. But Baker quickly put an end to such talk, saying in his usual plainspoken manner, “You can’t be selfish when people are dying.”
From all Baker endured — racism, financial difficulties, life-threatening medical conditions, professional disappointments — he learned the difference between trivial and meaningful, the importance of thinking big picture.
Which is not to dismiss Baker’s passion for his vocation. He holds out hope baseball will return. His new team, the Houston Astros, is good enough to fulfill whatever the definition of “World Series champion” might be. But a shortened season, followed by a potentially expanded postseason, would carry an asterisk. A championship simply would not mean the same.
Baker’s professional situation would be less urgent if the Astros, upon hiring him to replace AJ Hinch, had awarded him a multi-year contract. But for the responsibility of providing a fresh start to a tainted franchise, one that received unprecedented penalties for an illegal sign-stealing scheme, he received only one-year deal with a club option for 2021. If the season is canceled because of the pandemic, it’s conceivable Baker will never manage the Astros.
Heck, even if the season is played, Baker might be in an uncomfortable spot, considering his age and medical history put him at a higher risk for the coronavirus. But in the course of a 30-minute conversation, he expressed greater concern for health care workers. For people living without health insurance. For the impoverished, the homeless, the minority community. And also for his family, which is why Friday, all things considered, was a good day.
Baker, who lives with his wife, Melissa, in Granite Bay, Calif., outside of Sacramento, fished with Darren, a junior second baseman at Cal, for the first time since the suspensions of their respective seasons on March 12 forced each to return home.
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The Baker family residence, which includes a home gym and batting cage, allows father and son to work out together, and Darren to hit under Dusty’s tutelage. Fishing is another shared passion; the two took a trip to Alaska to catch salmon and trout last summer after Darren’s season in the Cape Cod League was over.
These days, with all 280 state parks in California closed, the simple act of fishing at a nearby lake is a forbidden pleasure. So, Dusty, a man whose circle of friends is seemingly as wide an ocean, contacted an acquaintance with a home on a pond, and Darren — “a heck of a fisherman” in Dusty’s estimation — caught 30 to 35 bass.
The two then headed to Fixins, a soul food restaurant owned by former NBA All-Star and former mayor of Sacramento Kevin Johnson. Darren picked up some gumbo, while Dusty purchased a couple of meals for his mother, Christine, who lives in an assisted-living facility in Sacramento.
Dusty said Christine is fine, but two patients and three workers at the facility have tested positive for the coronavirus. So, like millions of Americans right now, he needs to distance himself from a parent, and he is in the same position with his first grandchild.
Baker’s daughter, Natosha, gave birth to a son, Nova, on Martin Luther King’s birthday, Jan. 15. Natosha lives in Oakland, and Baker left for spring training on Feb. 10. He has seen the baby only twice in person, the last time wearing a mask and standing at a distance.
His unexpected return home, however, allowed him to spend more time with his wife, son and mother, leaving a thoughtful man with even deeper perspective.
“It’s been cool,” he said. “We’re trying to turn a negative into a positive.”
On Feb. 13, at the Astros’ spring-training complex in West Palm Beach, Fla., Baker stood perhaps 20 feet from where the team had conducted an uncomfortable news conference earlier that day, trying to apologize for its illegal sign stealing in 2017 and ’18.
Owner Jim Crane implausibly suggested the Astros’ scheme did not impact their hitters’ performance. Second baseman Jose Altuve and third baseman Alex Bregman read stiffly from scripts. Baker, too, participated, but only as the new manager, not someone who had any involvement with the team’s misconduct.
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Later, with the press conference over and the team’s workout about to begin, Baker flashed his familiar sly smile while chatting with a reporter and his longtime right-hand man, Chris Speier, whom the Astros had just named their quality control coach.
After a two-year hiatus, Baker was back managing. Forget the criticism of the Astros that only would grow louder in the coming days, not just from media, but also opposing players. For all the challenges the Astros would face, they were good enough to win it all.
Baker previously managed four other clubs — the San Francisco Giants, Chicago Cubs, Cincinnati Reds and Washington Nationals. But as he told The Athletic in August 2017, only once had he taken over a contender.
“Every team I inherited was a bottom-dwelling team, except Washington,” Baker said. “Most of the time you’re not going to inherit a first-division team. You’re going to get a losing team.”
The Astros, on the other hand, were coming off consecutive seasons of 101, 103 and 107 wins, and in 2019 were nine outs from their second Series title in three years before losing Game 7 to the Nationals, 6-2.
Baker is 137 regular-season victories shy of becoming the 12th manager to reach 2,000. Standing in the Florida sunshine, all things seemed possible — 2,000 wins, even if it would require him to return for a second season; his first World Series title as a manager (he won one as a player with the Dodgers in 1981); an updated legacy marked by a stirring final chapter. Once the virus struck, priorities shifted. Life-and-death matters tend to make professional goals seem rather small.
“When I was a kid, polio had us frightened; we were afraid to go to the public swimming pool. When I was a kid, we didn’t know what leukemia was,” Baker said. “I remember when our team (in 1976) was afraid to stay at a hotel in Philadelphia because of Legionnaires’ disease. There has always been something, always. And there will always be other things. As soon as you come up with a cure for one thing, here comes something else.
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“I don’t worry about championships or worry about 2,000 victories. You’re more concerned about life, to tell you the truth.”
Only a month ago, spring training was still in progress, and Baker was just about to introduce his signs. He was learning the players and coaches, trying to figure out a role for right-hander Lance McCullers, who was coming off Tommy John surgery, and how the team would manage without righty Gerrit Cole, who had left as a free agent for the Yankees.
Like every other manager, Baker went from being on the field to on the phone.
He calls players, talks weekly to general manager James Click, biweekly to Crane. Recently, he also had a conversation with former major-league pitcher Chris Young, MLB’s vice president of on-field operations, initiatives and strategy.
Young wanted insight from Baker, who experienced all eight of baseball’s labor-related work stoppages as a player, coach or manager, on how much time pitchers and hitters would need to prepare if baseball returned.
“We are running through a number of hypotheticals regarding the season,” Young said. “We reached out to all 30 managers to get their thoughts because they are on the field and have a unique perspective and great feel for what their clubs need when play resumes.
“I had a great conversation with Dusty. He has a wealth of knowledge, wisdom and experience, having been through several stoppages of similar nature. He provided advice that was consistent with other managers and supported by his previous experiences. We spoke for over an hour and I could have listened to him all day. His positivity is contagious.”
Baker, though, wasn’t sure how much guidance he actually provided.
“None of ’em compared to this,” he said, referring to the difference between previous work stoppages and the current delay. “None of ’em.”
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Baseball, like every other sport and industry, is in uncharted waters. Storylines that seemed so meaningful a month ago are secondary now. Once fans return, whether this season or next, it seems unlikely the anger they direct toward the Astros will be as ferocious as it might have been if the season had opened on schedule.
“I don’t see how it could,” Baker said.
Baker’s daughter recently reminded him of all of his physical trials: Hypertension that first surfaced when he was 19. A diagnosis of prostate cancer in December 2001. A hospitalization stemming from an irregular heartbeat and mini-stroke in September 2012. And on top of all that, Type 2 diabetes.
If baseball returns with all 30 teams playing under virtual quarantine in Arizona — a concept drawing support from some in the federal government and under preliminary discussion between MLB and the players’ union — Baker would be more vulnerable than those who are younger and have fewer existing medical conditions.
“I’m not real fearful for me,” Baker said. “You’re more fearful for your families. You’re more fearful for those who don’t have medical insurance.”
At some point, he knows, all Americans will need to deal with a certain level of risk.
“Yeah, we will,” Baker said. “The question is when? And how much? When does the gain outweigh the risk?”
His questions do not end there.
The Arizona plan, while perhaps the only path for baseball to return in 2020, gets Baker’s mind racing, just as it does for many others inside and outside the sport.
“It’s good for some,” Baker said. “But some organizations rely on ticket sales. Is TV going to be enough to pay everybody? Are (players) going to have to take a discount? I don’t know.
“What happens if one player or one trainer tests positive? Are they going to have (to) quarantine the whole team? When will we be in a situation where there’s a cure, a situation where there’s a vaccine? Is everybody in the stands going to have to have a mask on? I don’t think anybody knows.”
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Yet, some things are becoming clearer.
Baker generally is credited with helping create the high five, delivering the first with Dodgers teammate Glenn Burke after hitting his 30th homer in 1977 and making the Dodgers the first team in history with four 30-homer players. A friend recently texted Baker to remind him National High Five Day is April 18. But the celebratory act likely will be viewed less favorably in the future over concern it might help transmit the virus, and Baker acknowledged, “The high five is probably going to be no more.”
For early indications of changing behavior, Baker need only consider his son, who is diligent in his use of sanitary wipes, and his daughter, who urges him to wear gloves. Baker, though, does not need to be reminded of the gravity of the moment. People who see so much in their lives generally take a broader view.
“This is something that caught us off guard, but we shouldn’t have been caught off guard,” Baker said. “The world is so small. In the old days, if something happened in China, Russia or Africa, it probably wouldn’t have gotten here. Now with the way people travel from place to place, you would think (a virus) wouldn’t have caught us off guard.
“This shows how vulnerable we are. The world our kids live in will be even more vulnerable in the future. It’s going to change the way people go to work, the way people look at things, what’s really important. It certainly tightened up the importance of family.
“This is the time to hug your family, gather everybody in close quarters. It’s a time for a lot of prayer, and a time for us to heed the warnings.”
(Photo of Dusty Baker: Michael Reaves/Getty Images)
